The Beekeeper
by Novakkidd
Summary: Without bees, life as it is known would cease to be so easy. These small, seemingly irrelevant creatures are full of mystery and importance. They serve as life-givers and provide nourishment to the hungry. However, not all hunger for the sweet taste of honey. Some thirst for revenge, others for forgiveness, and others still for nothing more than simply pleasure.
1. Prologue - Chapter 0

**A/N: Hello! This is my first published story on FanFiction! Please review and let me know how you feel about it. I plan on making quite a few chapters that range from dealing with Crowley's humanity, Dean's new urge for death, Castiel's denial, and Sam's journey as well. I will be uploading the full first chapter that will really set the storyline in motion, but I felt the need for some backstory first. ****Please enjoy this journey with me, and I look forward to the reviews. This is so you can get a feel for my writing style a bit. I apologize for the short chapter in advance.**

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Chapter 0 - Prologue

He felt the blade pierce his skin, the all too familiar scent of blood wash over his chest as Metatron removed the angel blade with mock forgiveness. Dean's breath hitched, as if even his lungs were confused at how the plan had crumbled so easily. Every molecule of his body betrayed him one by one. It wasn't as if this was the first time he faced death. He had run from hell-hound before. Dean wasn't in denial now as he had been then. The young hunter did not feel 'death' by this occurrence, but _different_. His eyes searched the warehouse for familiarity, but the chains swinging above his head were the only objects that provided solace. The feeling of his life leaving him was not present, yet there was a distinct yank on his soul that hurt more than the gash in his heart. He heard heavy footsteps, words of pain crying out around him, Metatron's mocking ever so authoritatively bounced off the stark surroundings. It was Sammy's voice that momentarily forced Dean out of his distress.

Death before was lighter, even his soul being dragged to Hell didn't have the same sensation of stumbling with useless legs, or the pain of Sammy's piercing voice on his conscience. It was so much quicker, so much more absolute. He loathed this uncertainty, this waiting on an imminent demise.

_No chick flick moments, man, _he thought to himself wearily, trying to force one last smile for his little brother.

It served more difficult to speak than he anticipated. He opened his mouth, surprising himself with how dryly his voice tripped into the air. His body was burning inwardly. Even the clawing of Crowley's pets had a different impact. They had torn apart his material body quickly enough, their white canines latching his damned soul before proudly delivering it unto its master, as if it were just a game of fetch played in the late afternoon. The only other experience he could relate it to as he fought against himself was when he killed Magnus with the First Blade. His hand shook with anticipation as the mark burned against his skin. He welcomed death because he was more fearful of what the mark was making him into. It was time.

"I'm proud of us, Sammy."

* * *

Four seasons had passed since Dean's death. Before the fall, Castiel enjoyed nothing more than sitting in the heaven of an autistic man who drowned in a bathtub, or bee keeping. However, he rarely had much enjoyment from anything these days. After pressing two fingers to Metatron's forehead to read memories of Dean's passing, Castiel devoted himself to nothing more than restoring heaven's order. His intense emotion for humanity still kindled greatly, he decided resolutely that he could do more good as a third-party above than as a friend walking on Earth. He still searched for Dean's heaven, which use to be of the two young brothers setting off fireworks, but has now vanished. Other than this and his memories, Castiel removed himself from humanity to regain his angelic grace.

Sam left the bunker once he sobered up from cheap whiskey. He was unable to convince his brother, now with black eyes, to turn to the trials to save his humanity. Dean listened even less now that he was born again under a demonic influence. The younger brother wanted to pray to Castiel for advice, but Dean angrily refused. They were warded against all angels anyway, and until they figured this whole thing out, it'd be best to let Cas deal with own problems in Heaven. Sam, when not researching on restoring humanity to demons, fell back into the family business. It was about the only thing he understood. Most of his time was spent checking in on young hunters, those idiots who refused to back down from the fucked up life hunting monsters left them with. With Dean completely uncooperative and unwilling to danger any human or angel whilst he got a control on this "new life thing Crowley was spouting about," he announced he wouldn't be present at any future jobs for a while.

Dean didn't lie to Sammy. Those days were over. He would never lie to him again, that part is important. He hadn't planned for what happened next, but he hadn't intentionally sent his little brother away just so he could return to what his humanity hadn't allowed him to fully enjoy since coming back from Hell so long ago. Yet, with that troublesome little nagging presence at bay, the hallway emitted an odor that the new demon allowed to wash over him.

Each step he anticipated more and more, until he broke a smile before reaching the end of that wretched torture line Crowley reinstated as soon as he could. If memory served right, and, oh, it _did_, the double doors would be right here. A chill pressed down hard on Crowley who still suffered from the taint of humanity. The guilt of witnessing a miracle in the form of Dean Winchester, now Crowley's second in command, among many other titles but that the nicest of them all, opening two doors in almost a theatrical way. Both heavy doors slammed back against bloodstained concrete of bones as wails of sorrow, horror, and disbelief filled every crevice, including Crowley's humanity. He once dreamt of the day when he and Alastair would stand by taking in the beautiful torture technique of John's son, but victory tasted bitter in his mouth now as Deans fingers played across cold blades. Crowley turned his back as Dean begun to give out the rewards to Abbadon's followers who were too stupid to take their own life. The new demon's giggle attached to Crowley's humanity and did not leave.


	2. Chapter 1 - Your King

**A/N: If you're reading the first official chapter of The Beekeeper, thank you so much! The storyline develops starting here, and we get to see more of how Dean is dealing with being a demon and how those around him deal with it as well. It's mostly a chapter of Dean and Crowley, but Castiel is coming in next chapter! Enjoy, please leave a review so I know what I can work on to improve this story. Even one sentence is appreciated. Thank you all so much!**

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Chapter One- Your King

_"__Let's go take a howl at that moon."_

Crowley was no stranger to the Winchester boys. Moose and Squirrel were by far his favorite playthings of the human type, and although he and Sam shared a moment back in the church, lately Crowley found himself spending more and more time as Dean's mistress. Of course, even demonic Dean frowned at Crowley's distasteful references. But what could Crowley do, Dean was avoiding his brother like the plague, or like Dean had the plague and didn't wish to make anyone else suffer along with him.

The frown didn't stay for long as Dean explored the new limitations, or lack thereof, of his demonic lifestyle. He knew he was a monster, he felt it in his veins. This is where he belonged though. Before he was saved by Castiel, this room is where Dean's actions as a human brought him.

Cowardly, he had tried to get out of it before. Once Castiel pulled him from Hell, Dean fought through purgatory to save his angel, ending up only saving himself. This, torturing souls for a twisted feeling of pleasure it gave to his soul whilst knowing it was wrong and hating himself for it, this is what he _deserved. _The ground shook violently, causing Dean to stab deep into a thigh to regain his balance.

"Squirrel, let's take a break, shall we?" Crowley walked over to examine what was left of Abbadon's trusted demon. A smirk played across the Kings face, he almost felt like a proud father, _whatever that would've felt like,_ he thought to himself. The room shook again, this time Dean glanced curiously at the King before stepping forward. The other demons retreated from the room.

Dean ran the bloodied blade over Crowley's shirt leaving stains of red across the Kings chest, glancing up to be sure the act wasn't wasted.

"Very well, boy," Crowley sighed, "Time to go howling, I take it?"

"It's about damn time, Crowley." Dean hissed, unable to contain the anger of being cooped up all year. He didn't hate Hell, not really. It's where he belonged, where all the demons belonged. At the same time, though, torturing souls in Hell began seeming so _boring_ after all this time. It had been a full year in Earth's time that Dean had been searching out and destroying all of Abbadons followers who were dumb enough to hide in Hell. Whoever was left was either finishing the job themselves or hiding under a rock up top.

Dean grabbed his black leather jacket before he and Crowley disappeared.

The duo appeared suddenly in a forest. Trunks reached high above Dean, ascending into a gray sky. Trees cut into low fog, air visibly twisting about the dead limbs. It was probably chilly, neither could feel that sensation though. Snow littered the ground around a few budding plants.

It was the first time since he became a demon that Dean had been on Earth. He breathed it in, almost as if he actually needed the oxygen to live.

"This brings back memories." Dean smiled, his eyes flashing black for a moment. Crowley still wasn't completely used to that part of his miracle. Dean had such a soft spot for memories, for his brother, for anyone he had saved. Crowley still knew the young demon was Dean Winchester, a hunter. It was just that Dean had been so tired before the change. Now, well, now he wasn't so tired. Or hungry.

The field where they stood is the one where Dean crawled out from purgatory. "What are we doing here?" Dean asked, the humor previously held on his face gone and replaced with a quizzical and threatening stare.

He went to take a step forward to find that he couldn't. Outraged, the demon snapped his head down to see a devil's trap. Crowley sighed, raising his hands to his eyes in boredom.

"Really, Moose?" The King spoke into the air. "You could've just asked nicely, no need for theatricals."

* * *

Sam had exorcised so many demons today that he'd lost count. Nothing helped him sort out his confusion like slaying a bunch of the bastards that made his brother have black eyes. While taking a seat at a local pub, he recalled how simple life was. He had made it out of that god forsaken household, away from dad and the hunting. Then he pulled Jess into it all. He took a swig of the beer in front of him. They'd saved the world so many times, but could never save themselves.

Another swig downed.

_Ring-ring-ring-_

"Dean? ..Oh, no, sorry, I'm just expecting my brother to call soon." Sam huffed into the phone, thoroughly agitated at his big brother's extended absence. "I'm out on a job right now, but I'll send someone to check it out….No Problem." The beer was already gone by the time he hung up.

_Call soon?_ Sam mused in his mind, one hand pushing his hair back. _It's been a year since Metatron was imprisoned. A year since Dean…_ The wound remained fresh. Sam wasn't exactly calm when he had summoned Crowley to receive no answer. The damned demon loved dragging others down with him. The bastard. He was the one who coerced Dean into getting the mark, he's the one who was right there wagging his tail the whole time. Sam should've listened to Cas. There was something way off about his brother, and Cas saw that more than Sam did.

Suddenly, skinny arms enveloped Sam in a hug from behind. Sam jumped up and turned around quickly.

"Garth? What the hell?" Sam asked, returning the hug this time and sending a polite smile to Garth's wife.

"I heard something crazy. Had to ask myself, Sam. I know Bobby would want me to check up on you two." Garth started in. He had grown up a lot too, Sam realized. Sam also noticed that Garth kept mumbling and talking in circles. That's when it hit him. Already. _It's already gotten around about Dean. Dammit. How? _

"Sam, we gotta go somewhere." Garth announced after pulling out a cell phone and handing it to the youngest Winchester. "This was just recorded a few states over. It just appeared next to me with a note: Sam Winchester."

* * *

Dean loved to leave a mark on the demons he got to play with. It wasn't much, just a quick flick of his wrist and a pretty scar of a circle would appear in their flesh. He enjoyed the moon symbol quite a bit now. He'd have to thank Crowley for the over the top metaphor later.

However, his signature was much less appealing as a few of his patients stepped out of the woods with blank stares on their faces.

"What is this?" Crowley demanded. There was no immediate answer.

Dean stepped as far as he could against the barrier. "Your king asked a question of you, pests," Dean mimicked a speech he performed each time demons had entered his office, "I suggest you answer unless you want another session?"

At this, the demons took a step back, as if to physically indicate their wavering minds. In the same moment, the two demons were doused with holy water and exorcised violently. Their meat suits falling to the ground to begin rotting. An older man knelt next to the human corpse, unbuttoning the shirt until it fell open to reveal the circle carved by Dean. The group seem humored to have killed using such a humane tactic.

"Dean Winchester and the King of Hell, himself." The elder spoke sternly as the rest of the unknown people stepped into the clearing.

Crowley was approached by one as Dean stepped in front of him. No matter who he used to be, Dean was a demon now, and he owed this kind of life to Crowley.

"Your name." Dean demanded coldly.

A young woman laughed, "Your kind of filth doesn't deserve to speak our names," she spat on Dean's shoes, her white hair falling in front of a face that hid no secrets to how she felt about him.

"To think, this is what he has been so torn over. Senior," the woman turned to face the elderly man, "this could change everything. We could bargain for Metatron now-"The elder signaled her to stop speaking.

Dean, the young demon he was, thrashed against the boundaries of the demon trap as others secured handcuffs around his hands and neck. Crowley politely allowed himself to be captured alongside his second in command.

"We should kill them now. He already believes the young one is dead. Using the King of Hell will-"the girl again spoke out against taking both prisoners alive, her eyes flashing blue.

"Diari," the Elder responded, "Do you honestly believe that merely the once dethroned King of Hell will be enough to be used as a bargaining chip? The one we seek to manipulate once turned against Heaven itself for one man, and that man was not a demonic king."

The woman, Dean now intensely taking in all that he could, was called Diari. The name sounded….enochian. And from the way the bastards are talking aloud about it, they seemed to fit the bill. When the white haired angel spoke again, Dean knew he was right.

"I understand. Senior, our plan is in motion. I will alert the others." And she was gone.

"What the hell is this? Why are Angels here?" Dean hissed against his gritted teeth. His neck and wrists burned with whatever angelic voo-doo that enchanted the cuffs.

The Elder raised his hands as the other angels tensed. "I am Animotix, I am very old and very wise. I witnessed Crowley as a human soul, and as nothing more than a mere crossroads demon before he became the nuisance he is now.

And I knew you, Dean Winchester, before you singlehandedly destroyed one of the best earth soldiers we ever had. You-oh," Animotix seemed troubled that Dean was completely bored of the narcissistic angel,

"To see a soul that we laid siege on Hell to recover end up in this way…" He took Dean's chin in his hand roughly. Animotix pressed his thumb against Dean's upper lip until the demon's own tooth cut it open. It bled over his lip and onto the angel's thumb, whom let go of Dean before wiping the demons blood on a river stone nearby.

"The sacrifice was much too great for this trash."

A flash of blue lit up the sky. The air twisted around them, and Dean could see angel wings stretching out to cut into the ground. Crowley returned Dean's concerned glance with a shrug. It wasn't the fieldtrip he had been planning on, but at least one of his demons had recorded the whole thing on a cell phone. Dean's vision began to blur, as did Crowley's. The two of them began to feel weak. Dean suffered more quickly falling to his knees, much to Animotix's approval, before blacking out completely.

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**Chapter One done! Please leave a review!**


	3. Chapter 2 - Heaven and Hell

**A/N: If you read the story, please leave a review. It doesn't have to be long, but writers depend on the reviews of readers to let them know if they enjoy the story or if they should continue writing. This chapter will finally give voice to the new 'enemies' of the Winchesters, so please enjoy. From here out I would venture will begin to stray from a strictly cannon viewpoint. Please be aware that I will incorporate Destiel interactions in the future. You've been warned. Thank you for reading and reviewing. **

**Favorite and Follow, too!**

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Chapter Two- Heaven and Hell

"DEAN!" Sam yelled as the Impala screeched to a stop in the same field that hours before had held his brother. The tall man ran his hand through long hair, worriedly pacing back and forth across the field, Garth clumsily sniffing the parameters for clues.

Although neither Winchester liked to think about it, Garth wasn't human anymore, and his nose was serving well in this case.

"Something weird is happenin', Sam." Garth snorted as he tried to speak through sniffing, his eyes watering slightly as the discomfort. "Why would angels capture the King of Hell and newly hunter turned demon?" The werewolves face grimaced as he caught the insincerity mistakenly conveyed in his own voice, yellow tinted eyes flashing apologetically at his hunter friend.

Raising his hand in agreement, Sam sighed and sat back against the Impala. It had been a year since his brother went missing, or rampaging through Hell with Crowley-whatever those two had been doing-but his brothers car still smelled like greasy burgers and long night drives, if that were even a scent. Garth opened his arms while lowering his chin and raising his eyes, the same way the man did every time he felt someone needed a hug. Sam ignored it politely, trying to push the memories of tiny army soldiers being shoved back into the ash tray of the Impala by Dean after she was totaled away. Sam felt like he was trying to do the same thing now-push even a tiny bit of humanity back into his demonized brother.

Hell of a lot of good he was doing, though, he sighed deeply. "If Cas were here, we'd be able to ask him what's going on upstairs." The deep words trailing off as his eyes searched a sky devoid of the answers he sought.

"Garth, let's do some research."

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A sliver of blood began coating tightly fixed handcuffs behind him, the demon hissing as whatever holy incantation slowly pursed its poison into his bruised wrists. _Dammit!_ Dean thought to himself as he wiggled about the small cell, green eyes taking in the dry stone walls so large he doubted how they'd even been placed atop one another. He felt immediately sickened as consciousness hit him hard, memories of white hair and Animotix-or what the hell ever the angel called himself-came rushing back. The demon stretched his legs out from where they'd unfortunately fallen asleep under his body, prickles sending goosebumps up his arm. His voice cracked as he called out Crowley's name, trying to figure out where the hell they'd landed and if anyone else was there.

There was no answer. Cursing under his breath, Dean fought for control over his body, wincing each time the wound on his wrist was enlarged from useless struggles against his restraints. He stopped suddenly, hearing heavy pairs of footsteps headed right for him. Blurred voices that had been meshed together were quickly becoming distinctly recognizable, and Dean felt his breath hitch, his heart stop beating altogether, before he willed his eyes shut.

"Brothers and Sisters, I do not have time for this folly. I understand you do not agree with his way, but we both yearn for peace. Please-" The low voice was cut short by a coy almost whisper that Dean recognized as the white haired woman from before.

"Inias, we understand your misguided loyalty, but hear us out. Brother, you do remember the Winchesters?" She hummed to the angel Inias. The name didn't seem familiar to Dean, but it also left a hinge of curiosity in the air for Inias. The footsteps stopped nearby before an elder voice spoke. The demon recognized it immediately as Animotix and bent his head sideways in order to hear the hushed voices.

"We are in possession of the oldest brother," a quiet gasp filled the air as Inias attempted to disapprove, the elder continuing with little regard, "the one whom stole your garrisons captain away. Surely you recall those days spent with Hester as you both hurried to regain composure and power over the others. You made a remarkable captain, you carried out your duties faithfully. The higher-ups are eternally grateful for your presence in those days. However, what wonders have you now to show for it? Although once trusted, there is no title of power set aside for you, my burdened Brother."

Inias strained against the words, he had been stronger than Hester in nothing but patience, the threat of even standing in front of the senior made the previous captain worry over his words before speaking, "None of us have titles of power, Senior. We are all to continue aiding humanity. The hierarchy has failed us more than once in the past. Castiel has made it clear that we do not need to grovel at each other's feet with polite mentions of brotherhood. Have we not witnessed enough wars? Have we not lost enough? Uriel, Hester, Anna, even your trusted friend Naomi have suffered through such misplaced fury." The younger angel remained polite, and Dean doubted the two angels shared eye contact at all. The footsteps began again for a short while before they all stopped in front of Dean's cage.

Dean's eyes blinked black as he examined the group in front of him. Irias, no doubt the dark haired man in a suit, stood dumbfounded, obviously thinking the others had been trying to get a rise from him. Two fingers came to squeeze his nose in a vain attempt to relax himself. "Does Castiel know of this?" He breathed, heads shook around him in answer.

"Not quite yet, Brother." Animotrix voiced, a smile itching at the corners of his lips, eyes cast down with delight and anticipation. The demon snarled at the group before his eyes returned green, lifting his chin proudly at the angels.

"He'll be pissed." Another voice spoke behind them, causing all to turn swiftly. "Entirely, completely _pissed."_

* * *

Sam threw himself over a cluttered table, long arms reaching for a thick leather bound book far from his seat. Flipping through the pages intently, he sighed loudly, lips pressed into a concerned line. "Got it."

He turned the book to Garth who tore his eyes away from the phone held against the table, a thump echoed momentarily through the bunker as the werewolf's feet hit the floor. The leather bound book sat heavy against the table, its pages browned with age, edges torn through years of abuse as Garth ran his hand over it. Garth read, eyes widening as he took knowledge in, willing it to stay as memories of Bobby's importance flickered through his mind. His nose twitched once as he finished reading.

"That's not good." He curtly stated.

"It's apparently a hierarchal system of angels based on a sixteenth century idea created by a guy called John Dee. He belonged to the Angelican Faith and thought up an enochian angel magic system." Sam started, eyes heavy with the threat of another powerful battle so soon after the last.

Garth grunted in recognition. "Bobby mentioned something about that before…said that there's a whole lot of hierarchy for the higher ups. Not like archangels, that's all in the battle section. This is kinda like a protection section," he giggled at the way the words rolled from his mouth, "called the Watchtowers."

Sam took a bite of his salad as he listened intently. Swallowing, he moved his fingers to a laptop in order to find what the internet held. "There's four Watchtowers, it says here, four large magical word-square tables. Whatever _that_ means."

Sam took another bite and nodded to himself before continuing, "Each of the four Watchtowers is jointly governed by six Seniors. The Revelation of St. John mentions these twenty four. Each Watchtower is further divided into four sub-quadrants, that's where the archangels and other soldiers come into play to protect each quadrant of the world.

"But there aren't any archangels left. Michael and Lucifer are still in the pit, Gabriel is in the wind, and Cas ganked Rapheal. How's the order even holding up?" A thought crossed his mind as he simultaneously willed it away. "You don't think these Watchtower seniors are trying to start another civil battle, do you?"

Most of the angels were still wandering lost on Earth without their wings and most without any real power. Only a select few had been allowed back into Heaven before Metatron was taken captive. Sam hadn't heard from Cas since then and he wasn't sure if they were slowly ushering in the angels they could find, or even how that worked. It was above his paygrade, for sure.

"Well, maybe it's only the seniors left. If the archangels are otherwise engaged, that leaves everything under the twenty four seniors obsolete. Maybe they're scared they'll also become obsolete." Garth offered.

It made sense. Dean and Sam had gotten into a ton of shit because of scared angels fearing for their jobs, or even acting out their heavenly duties on Earth without realizing the cost of their actions. Angels were created to obey orders, and ever since Cas introduced free will into the mix, it's been nothing but death and confusion. Even forgetting about the angels, they'd been on jobs before where vamps were nervous about their bloodline dying out and went to extreme measures to ensure their interpretation of safety continued.

"You're on the right track, Moose." A low voice purred from beside the table in the bunker. "Always impressing with the research." Crowley ran a finger over the dust on a pile of books to his left.

Sam stood, quickly drawing his gun. He had had plenty of time to etch a demon trap into each bullet as he waited for this piece of shit to show his face again. Crowley seemed displeased with the act as he raised his hands gently into the air as if to say 'Oh please, control yourself.'

Sam gritted his teeth before pushing the gun back into the holster, thoroughly too exhausted to deal with the King. "What do you know, Crowley? Your favorite room is still supplied with chains if you get any ideas!" Even to the younger brother, the threats were becoming tiring to repeat.

Crowley made a sexual joke about S&M before perching himself on the end of the table, shoving books out of this way as he did so. "Animotix. He's one of the twenty some seniors who found themselves unemployed as of late. They are all upset that their pets have been dealt with and their last trumpcard jailed." He paused as the other two men stared at him, waiting for the King to continue. He straightened his back before playing with the collar of his coat, noting how Sam struggled to remain patient.

"Metatron was nothing more than a scribe, so I have had the joy of hearing through my torture walls. His mission to become God was jumpstarted by this sixteenth century order, although they have been around quite a bit longer than that. The economy is hitting us all hard, and they've found themselves bored of democracy. After all, angels do love to get right. To. The. Point." He teased to himself, imagining how many pointed weapons Dean would be dealing with at this moment. Crowley was at a loss when he awoke miles from the field they'd been captured in, just thrown aside as if he didn't matter, didn't serve some other purpose than an escort for his new demon. The King closed his eyes in frustration. Did no one else appreciate a legal contract? He shook his head before Sam voiced angrily.

"What does that even matter? None of this helps us! We know all the angels are asses, but all of them are kicked out. All of them are lost. Why are these seniors the only ones still holding onto this sytem? And why do they need Dean for it?!" The tall man fisted into Crowleys jacket, raising him from the table with little effort. "Where. Is. My. Brother?" He spat into the air, Garth tensed and ready for a fight if need arise.

Crowley casually slapped away the large hand on his jacket, mildly upset at the lack of trust he was receiving after the older brother's miraculous recovery. "He's in Heaven. In their jail, albeit, but wouldn't that be terribly _awkward _for a demon to be in heaven for any other reason? Of course, his angel is up there as well, but it's not like they get visiting hours. The long distance relationships are so difficult." Crowley hummed, the irritation in his voice still apparent, although coaxed by his teasing.

"How do you know this? We saw you get abducted as well! Are you planning something with the Watchtowers?!" Sam urged for answers, but Crowley began to feel less talkative.

"Samantha, there aren't twenty four of them left. There isn't even four left. There is only the one. Animotix is the only remaining elder who survived the fall. He's one of the oldest angels in existence, perhaps even the oldest since the fall. To say he's a traditionalist is an understatement. According to some unfortunately angelic souls I met with earlier, he has a slightly less large following who were loyalists to Raphael. I can only guess Dean Winchester is to be used as a bargaining chip of sorts. Nothing more than the means to a very structured end."

Sam stared quizzically at the King of Hell for a moment, squinted eyes demanding more information before Crowley finally gave a hint,

"What else could _possibly_ be used against Castiel? Who else other than the older Winchester has Castiel ever put down his weapon for or raised it for? C'mon Moose. I know all about that profound bond, and I'm wagering Animotix does as well. If I were you, I'd lay low in case they're searching to complete the set."

_TO BE CONTINUED..._

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**Please, please review! Fav/Follow! I appreciate your time and support!**


	4. Chapter 3 - Memories

**Chapter 3 **

**Memories**

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Castiel found himself slowly stepping down a hallway, angels greeting him as he absentmindedly responded. It worried him that if he were not busy with arranging lists of deceased angels or trying to find the other fallen ones, or just keep himself completely busy, that he'd fall into a deep sadness. He felt guilty for this sadness twisting around his heart while walking in his Father's home, but the guilt didn't cease the tightness in his chest. The angel still checked each day for new heavens being built. He had recently sent a team down to figure out the veil problem in order to guide some souls to Heaven.

Every section of his home had been tossed out. So many brothers and sisters dead before they even hit Earth, even more still missing their wings; powerless in a confusing environment. Castiel felt more guilt for remaining in Heaven as Sam Winchesters prayers frequented his radio. The Angel couldn't force himself to set foot on Earth again, devoting himself to the cause of angelic aid to human on the basis of a third party alone. The risk was too high. A long stretch of time stood between the present and Dean's death, yet Castiel was still unable to locate the soul he impressed upon. The accidental mark on the human's shoulder was only a physical manifestation of the protection placed on the soul.

When he glanced up, he found himself at an old door. Smiling slightly, he permitted himself the pleasure of peeking into Bobby's heaven. The angel stood against the doorframe silently observing the young brothers arguing over a movie, Dean shoveling handfuls of popcorn into his mouth as Sam stared at his brother with amazement and disgust. Bobby was coming back out of the kitchen with a large grin on his face, cheeks blushed with happiness under the disguise of his untamed beard. "Hey, ya idjits! Yer making a mess!" The brothers laughed as Bobby sat down mumbling profanities, the old man's delight not lost on Castiel as it was the Winchesters. The angel allowed himself a small smile before closing the door and returning his attention to the hallway.

'There is rumor of a demon being held in our prisons.' An exceedingly small whisper escaped the mouth of one angel to another before they rounded the corner and met Castiel closing a door. They lowered their eyes and walked past him hurriedly. This act was also not lost on Castiel, his brow furrowing in curiosity as he followed after the two. His hand rested on the shoulder of one angel, politely asking him to repeat these rumors.

"C-Castiel, there are but rumors, I am sure." One offered, glancing at his friend for aid. "You surely don't believe such is true, Brother? Heaven has no place for a demon. Of course." The other added with little certainty. Heaven's cages were built to hold anything less than what Purgatory was made for. Angels and demons alike could share the prison, and although there had been no need for it, it was indeed possible.

* * *

It hit him like a ton of bricks. This overwhelming anger that he had so frequently warned others of. Never allow anger to control you. Breathe. And _God, _was he trying too. The stark hallway door loomed high above the angel. The stonework as cold as darkened eyes. With him came a heavy atmosphere, his torso the only one capable of cutting through. Castiel didn't notice the stillness around him as he spat out words, and honestly he didn't really care.

"The overwhelming audacity of Angels can only be compared to our incessant need for ownership. I see here our favorite surviving Watchtower has taken it on himself to continue Metatron's twisted need for a title, Brother." Castiel hissed, eyes refusing to look into the cage beside them.

Inias stepped beside Castiel in order to visually state his loyalty.

Animotix laughed away at the tension that caused the other angels to flee the room, much too scared of the consequences of being in a room with Castiel. The once war hero had turned to peace, but Castiel did not confuse peace to be something won without bloodshed. None but trustworthy Inias and ever faithful Diari cared to stay behind.

"Brother?" The elder angels voice twisted the air around them, wishing Castiel to peek to the cage. "Come now. We both know the great Castiel does not take tours of our rarely visited prison. You haven't wandered in here since Gadreel so beautifully redeemed himself and you imprisoned Metatron. He says hello, if you wish to indulge in curiosity."

Inias stepped forward menacingly, "Watch your tone, Animotix. You have no power any longer."

"The only curiosity of which I will indulge is asking why you saw fit to _gossip_." Castiel put a hand on Inias' shoulder before stepping in front of him. "Word of another war is brewing. Is this all you are capable of? Father sent you to Earth to witness his love for those you hated. I fear this did not work as well as you led all of us to believe, Animotix. What is this you have brought to Heaven? This is unacceptable. You must wait for a new position to be placed in. You cannot just create chaos for self-fulfillment." Castiel stepped around Animotix remembering how sly the other angel had been throughout time. How like a spoiled child unable to play with toys that did not belong to him he was, how unlike a child he was in that he calculated and preyed on weaknesses. Many believe Lucifer to be so cunning, yet they have never met Animotix.

"_Father_ sent me to Earth? Father did nothing. Naomi banished so many of us to tidy up and babysit the humans." Animotix's anger flared as Diari's blue eyes settled disapprovingly on Castiel. "This is not the topic of which I will discuss with you, Brother." He spit out mockingly, "We laid siege to Hell together, did we not? Yet you treat me with such hostility. When I close my eyes-" and he did so at that moment, lifting his arms up, palms faced upwards as though praising – "I still hear your voice echo: Dean Winchester is saved."

Dean faltered at the sound of his name on this man's tongue. Castiel had mentioned there were many angels whom he commanded during the siege on Hell, but failed to mention they had been so powerful and unpleasant. He tried to stand, yet his knees locked with such a guilty weight that he was unable to. Green eyes glossed over with emotion for his long lost friend, and even though his original soul had been all but replaced, his once human heart ached greatly. He questioned if this is what Castiel had been feeling when his angel said '_I wish circumstances were different' _so long ago when Castiel was fighting his own battles here. This, being a demon stuck in a heavenly prison, wasn't exactly how Dean had wished to help Castiel, then or now.

The world, or heaven, shifted around him, mind racing with memories of the duo fighting against exactly what he became. The moment Dean was finally able to stand to his feet was the moment he couldn't withstand the intense hatred for himself. His hands hit hard against cold iron, or he guessed they'd be cold. He didn't know, couldn't feel it. Self pity overtook him momentarily, both hands displaying white knuckles as he gripped the bars separating him from his angel. His angel who refused to so much as glance toward the cage because Dean knew Castiel _knew. _

_And it hurt so damn much. _

"Cas…" Castiel flinched as the words slapped his ears. He refused to entertain this elder. They had powers kin to archangels, creating a dead vision of a dear friend was not out of the realm of justification for Watchtowers.

"Do not provoke me, Animotix. You will not enjoy the outcome." Castiel spoke through gritted teeth, hand suddenly gripping an angel blade.

The white haired angel giggled to herself. "How adorable, Senior. Castiel is wielding quite the unusual blade, is he not?" Animotix nodded in approval. She closed the space between her and Castiel silently, pale fingers tracing the outline of his trench coat. "You still reek of an Impala. That coat of yours serves as an ugly reminder to all of us of your less than favorable loyalties. And the blade you hold. It's touching, really."

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Animotix waved silence into the air instead. The demon pulled against his restraints, metal clinking loudly against Diari's taunting.

"Control. Yourself. Sister." Inias drew his weapon, its silver blade pressing hard against her neck as he made space between her and a very shaken Castiel who spoke with such sadness Inias dropped his attention from the female angel. In that moment she appeared leaned against the cage.

"It's touching how you wield the very weapon used to kill your favorite pet. Do you feel as though he's with you through that blade, those clothes? What a ghastly _human_ trait to have, Brother. Unfortunately—"

Scared hands reach through the cage and closed around the talkative angels throat, dragging her against the steel. "Shut up." Dean whispered, making sure her body shielded him from Castiel's view.

Castiel had the blade on Animotix' throat simultaneously, growling in anger. "What are you attempting to accomplish? I will not allow another war. This unsightly game needs to end."

Animotix laughs shocked Castiel whose eyes narrowed in confusion. "This is no game, Castiel." The Senior angel grinned, "This is not an illusion. That-" He pointed toward the cage where Diari's was still held by a faceless demons hands, "That is oh so very _real._ I am surprised you did not notice whose soul was locked up as soon as you entered the room. You did mark it so well after all."

Diari disappeared from Dean's grasp suddenly, causing him to recoil from sight, deafening sounds of metal hitting the ground. Castiel lowered his blade from Animotix's throat. The elder recognized a delightful spread of pain and anticipation wash over his young brother. Oh this plan was too easy.

"Show yourself." Castiel ordered, the cage doors appeared lucid as though they were just fog sitting in the air. The cuffs vanished in the same manner, yet the demon did not move. "Show. Yourself." Castiel's voice cracked under pressure. Inias shot Animotix a look that could kill if it were able to.

Dean heard Castiel's voice and it froze him in place. He had planned to run as soon as an opening presented itself, but he didn't really know how to escape Heaven. His eyes scanned the corner he knelt in, praying for there to be a portal suddenly open and Crowley's laughter filling the room informing him it was just another distasteful joke. It felt as though an eternity went by and the corner never fucking moved. Not even dust particles lingered in the air. Dean closed his eyes, fist clenching tight.

"D-" Castiel's deep voice broke sending a crack through Dean's very soul. His ribs that were carved into burned hot, Dean reaching a hand to grab unto his still scarred shoulder.

The moment Castel laid his eyes on the soul in front of him was the moment an era ended. It was twisting black and blue, the soul constantly tearing at itself in turmoil. It hissed and cried in torture of being bound to its demonic roots, quiet laughs filling any void not yet overtaken by pain. Castiel lowered his blue eyes as the soul attempted to pray, thin blue wisps of light recoiling against an invisible barrier as they beat against it trying to escape.

And Castiel pondered to himself how often Deans prayers had faltered. He closed his eyes and imagined this broken soul ravishing itself in hatred as it cried out in its first hours of life. The angel took a heavy step forward, eyes flickering open in an attempt to see past the demon. It was no secret how demons looked to angels. They did not find refuge in their vessel, or meatsuits, but instead the pulsing sins rose and fell into the air around them, whatever ailment the once human soul had felt was exemplified and leaked into the ground, poisoning God's creation further. It was in this way that human souls felt uneasy as they passed possessed people, their steps lightened and brisker as their souls willed them away.

Just as Castiel had many faces, demons also took a very different face. They took the face of every doubt, every whisper, every sin they ever committed or wished to commit and they all battled against one another, biting and thrashing endlessly. Demons were so easy to see for angels because they were constantly screaming. Yet this demon in front of him was so much louder than any Castiel had heard.

This demon was so tormented by his human life that it literally would tear against his skin, open wounds closing as quickly as they formed up and down his arms. Castiel reach out, hand hovering in the air that tore at his grace, his very fabric of angelic principle. Tiny lacerations appeared on Castiel's outstretched hand as he touched the demons shoulder.

In that moment everything that either of them knew died. The world jerked to a stop, Dean attempting to recoil from the touch. His battered soul cried louder, forcing Diari to cover her ears and Inias to trip backwards in shock. It was much too loud. Other angels would hear this and come running to investigate if they could stand to get near. Castiel's arm was bleeding steadily as the other angels witnessed two souls very much at war. Blackened fog tried to descend further into itself, pumping against the light from the angels pure light. Diari vanished, her own soul unable to withstand the turmoil ripping into the prisons hallway. Fog poured out of Dean's soul, flinching and grabbing at the floor around him as it made its way past Castiel and toward the other angels. Inias apologized briefly before leaving the room.

"Dean; you are alive." Castiel breathed out.

Dean jerked away finally, his arm slapping Castiel's hand from his shoulder. "Do not touch me." Dean winced in pain at his own demand. _I'm dirty. I'm a walking piece of shit. I can't allow you to filthy yourself with me._

The soul became more aggressive, fighting against the stone in a way doubtful to occur again. It left carved dents in the prehistoric cage walls.

Animotix watched in amazement. This was so much more than he wished for. If he could bottle this pain, this unadulterated _power_, oh. Oh, he could control it all! Just a dash of demon soul to set the mood for another civil war in Heaven. Castiel was still weak and although opinion of him was strong, it was also young. Many remembered the Leviathian Period, how easily Castiel had been led astray by Crowley.

Now, if only they could witness Castiel reaching out to yet another Demon, and one so much more personal than merely a King of Hell. This demon was the King of Castiel, the greatest warrior angel ever made, domesticated by a Winchester. The face of the Rebellion. And now the new face of the misled. Animotix would easily make Castiel into the next Fallen Angel, just as he had helped the fire grow against Lucifer. After all, it was so fun to play favorites, especially when he got to be the favorite.

Suddenly, part of Dean's soul lashed out against the Senior. It hit with such speed and precision that it took multiple strikes before Animotix could escape the prison wing. He hissed in pain at the lacerations that were not healing. He scoffed, unamused.

"Dean. What happened? Why does your soul cry out? You should be here in Heaven….but not _here._ You had a Heaven when Metatron…" Heavy eyelids shut against the memory of the wannabe god, bright red glistening on the blade.

Dean's eyes glazed over with tears that refused to fall. His back now against the wall, he faced Castiel with lowered eyes. As a demon standing in front of one of the most respected angels of all time, Dean wouldn't allow himself the pleasure of seeing his friends face. He let him down so many times in so many ways. The demon didn't deserve any glimmer of hope for forgiveness.

"I am so sorry. I couldn't hear your prayers, Dean. They're trapped inside you." Castiel touched Dean's shoulder as he read back the prayers to himself. Fixing his eyes on the floor, Castiel apologized. "I should've been there. Sam prayed for so long. I couldn't leave though. The others were…" he paused for a long moment, "In retrospect, they were not as important."

A clamoring of voices were heard outside the prison door. They yelled for Castiel, asking if he was safe, before opening the door to an empty hallway.

**TO BE CONTINUED **

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**A/N: Please be sure to favorite/follow/review! I hope on updating weekly on Mondays, maybe more, but at least once a week. Thank you for continuing to read my fic!**


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